


Black On Black

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Demon Sex, Angelic Grace, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Camping, Demon Dean Winchester, Drinking Grace, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Grace Kink, Grace Sharing, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, POV Dean Winchester, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, References to Addiction, Romance, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Summer, Swimming, Touch-Starved, Touching, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, Winged Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1711031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Sam are doing everything they can to keep Dean in touch with humanity as he descends further and further into the demonic. Although his brother can't see the scorched dragon wings and scaly skin, Castiel can, which is something that makes him more uncomfortable than he wants to acknowledge. They go camping because it was what Dean loved to do as a human, and that's when Castiel chooses to start bringing Dean back to his own soul despite how much he hates his new true form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot based on my headcanon of what demon!dean looks like. There might be a second smutty part to this if you guys want.

The one thing they never told Dean was that demons have wings too. Big, black, flappy masses protruding from his shoulderblades and ridiculously long to carry his body weight. Not that he'd attempted to fly yet--or teleport as humans viewed it--but then he stopped short and reminded himself that he _was_ human. The demon he'd become was a disease, like the vampire he'd been cured of before. They just had to find a cure. And the faster he lost those goddamn wings, the better.

He sat unnaturally still on the dock with his legs dangling in the water, absolutely hating how cold he felt ever since Metatron changed his fucking species. At least it was up in the 90s that day and the sun beat down on his wings, taking some of the chill away. But he hated the constant hulking things weighing him down, yet begging him to stretch and fly at the same time.

Fuck it all.  
  
"Hey, Dean! Come on! You gotta be sweating to death over there. Water's cool," shouted Sam, bobbing around with Castiel further out in the lake.  
  
It was his brother's idea. The whole friggin thing. Camping and lake swimming were things that Dean used to enjoy but he couldn't seem to touch his identity anymore. The guy who liked a cold beer and a sunny day in the woods just couldn't make himself known. His demonic nature clubbed that guy over the head and tied him up somewhere hidden in the back of his subconscious. Sammy wanted to take that trip to remind Dean of his humanity. He was just so determined not to lose his brother to the darkness of Hell.  
  
"I'm cold," Dean mumbled.  
  
Castiel turned to Sam and whispered, "Earth is rather cold to demons."

Even though he whispered it so far away, Dean still heard him. He heard everything whether he wanted to or not. It wasn't unlike the overpowering sensations of being a vampire. His unnatural stillness there on the dock probably resembled a gargoyle perched on the roof of an ancient building but Dean could only control his sanity in that state.   
  
"He's not a demon. He's my brother," Sam argued. The younger Winchester dove under the water and swam away.   
  
Yeah, tell that to his wings and black eyes. Sam couldn't see the way Dean looked now, stuck in a dead body with blackened leathery wings stretched over thin bones. He reminded himself of a dragon.   
  
At least Castiel had black wings too, although they were covered in beautiful iridescent feathers. His blackness resembled the absorption of every color in the universe, not a creature scorched by the fires of Hell like Dean. The angel swam as well, using his wings like flippers to propel himself through the lake. Dean couldn't help but stare. He'd never seen any part of Castiel's true form until _the change_ and he stared openly at the angel glowing from his chest. Castiel's vessel meant very little to Dean anymore. Vision changed and he saw straight into Castiel, into his grace and heart.   
  
It was supposed to repulse Dean. That was his new instinct.   
  
Yeah, it was supposed to repulse him but it didn't.

Dean dropped his eyes to his outstretched legs in the water, careful with the muscles around his sockets. He hadn't quite figured out what mechanism turned his eyes black for human vision yet. Every time it happened, Sammy thought he did it on purpose like a sign of acceptance. Dean didn't want to be a demon but his little brother didn't understand how natural it felt to live in a species. Sammy was comfortable being human because he  _was_ human. Dean  _was_ a demon and felt all of those instincts.

How many decades, how many centuries could Dean really fight those instincts and cling to frayed threads of humanity?

He did it for Sam, really. And Castiel. The fear and disappointment in their eyes touched the human part lingering in Dean and he clung to it for them. Hell, he even allowed himself to think about Castiel in ways that he'd always ignored and suppressed as a human. Clinging to the love held in secret kept him as human as he could be with black eyes and charred black dragon wings.

The dock boards shifted beneath him. Castiel appeared, dripping wet in bright blue swimming trunks, and sat beside Dean as if angels and demons could always sit together.

"You really should stretch sometimes," Castiel said discreetly.

"What for?" Dean squinted at the angel's profile.

"You're not stretching your wings at all. You're keeping yourself bunched up as close to your body as possible," he explained in a tone just between them. "It's going to cause arthritic pain if you don't stretch and fly like your instinct demands."

For a moment, Dean said nothing. His brow arched suspiciously. "You're teaching me to be a demon?"

"No." Blue eyes shot straight into him, glowing from within in a way that humans couldn't see. "I'm helping you care for yourself because if I don't, another demon will, and then you'll be lost to me-- _us_ \--forever."

The way Castiel tripped over his words and amended it to include Sam and not just himself wasn't lost on Dean. He said nothing. Without the black sludge covering his soul, he might have been able to feel more about it. Maybe even gratitude that Castiel selflessly took care of him despite being natural enemies in the celestial order of things. Stuff like that filled Dean's mind since he woke up that way. He knew a lot about the way the universe worked that he never could have guessed as a human man.

Castiel jerked him back to reality as he grabbed Dean's chin and yanked him hard, forcing eye contact. "Don't hide your eyes from me, Dean."

"I broke every mirror in the bunker. I can't even stand looking at myself let alone the rest of you looking at me. Can't you see the ... the  _scales_? Sammy can't but I know you can." He whispered hoarsely, the mortification rising to the surface. "I look like a dragon that got chucked in a bonfire! I smell like sulfur!"

The patience in Castiel's still features grated on Dean's nerves, yet he knew that was his new species reacting to kindness. He swallowed hard and fought the rage like an addict fighting the urge to take another hit.

"I see your eyes, your scorched wings, and I even see your scales, as you describe your skin," replied Castiel in a soft, measured tone. "But beneath the exterior, I see  _you_. You're in there, Dean, just like you were when I pulled you free of Hell. The soul of Dean Winchester is stronger than any affliction placed on it and you'll feel your own internal power again once this anger settles."

"You're full of shit, angel," he mumbled, scoffing and looking away.

"I put you back together again once before," continued Castiel, ignoring his remark, "and I'm going to do it again. You can fight me, you can hate me, and you can throw your demonic powers at me if it makes you feel better. I can take it. I even forgive you for it because that's your nature now, but you're not going to scare me off. There's nothing you can do to me as a demon that I haven't already seen thousands of other demons do. The difference is I never believed in them. I believe in you."

"You always did have a taste for lost causes," Dean retorted.

Again, Castiel refused to acknowledge his self-destructive remarks. He shifted on the dock and reached for Dean's left wing. Physical contact, the acknowledgement that those things really existed, felt like an electric jolt that jerked him backwards. He jumped like a skittish wild animal and Castiel stared into his eyes, unwavering and stern in his resolution. A second attempt of reaching out to the offending wing truly had Dean unnerved and, dare he say it, frightened like a trapped animal. The feral tendencies even seemed strange to him but he couldn't fight those instincts.

But Castiel's fingertips touched the rough, leathery flesh below the top arching joint. A hidden instinct informed Dean that it was an intimate place to be touched for winged creatures like them. The underside of all wings--angel or demonic--were considered private, like a human touching another human's naked flesh. Castiel leaned in closer, quite slowly and cautiously, and spread his hand until the whole palm skimmed private wing flesh between two bones.

"N-n-nobody touched--I mean--I haven't even t-touched," Dean stammered. He didn't know how to process the physical sensation of a body part he'd never had until recently.

"You're not supposed to let me do this," Castiel told him. "A demon armed with an angel blade like you are would plunge it into my chest before I ever got close enough to touch your wing. But look--" he nodded to his hand gently sliding up and down the dragon wing, "--you let me touch. You let me bring out pleasant sensations."

Dean squinted. The blackness spread over his eyes, though he didn't intend for that to happen. "What's your point?"

"You haven't surrendered to what you've become. You wear your demonic curse like a cloak but you haven't let it get into here." Castiel's other hand pressed against the center of his chest. "Dean, you're still in here. Don't let go of yourself."

It made Dean want to vomit black sludge having an angel invade his personal space that way. Castiel was right. The angel blade sat on the beach towel within reach and it begged to find Dean's fist and Castiel's chest cavity. More powerful than the urge to kill was the urge to cling to that last shred of himself wound up in Castiel. His eyes fell to the lake but he regretted it as soon as he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. He couldn't make the blackness disappear. Then he realized it appeared with physical stimulation as much as it did rage or the urge to kill. And demons had the highest sex drive he'd ever considered possible. That meant...

Dean shrugged Castiel off and pulled himself out of the lake. He stood and stretched high, bones popping and arms pointed high overhead, and his wings spreading out twenty-five feet wide. Somehow he knew that just like he knew being a demon made him want to act on every deeply repressed sexual urge he'd harbored. Castiel couldn't touch his wings anymore. He just couldn't. It was better for him.

"I know, Dean," said the angel, still sitting on the dock. He glanced up at the demon without apology but enough empathy that Dean fought the anger harder.

"Just what do you know?"

"I know more about what you are than you do." Still, he didn't spell it out. He rose up to his feet instead and faced Dean without fear. "If there's one good thing to come out of all of this, it's your new lack of care for what other humans think of what we want." He stood silently observing Dean in that unnerving Castiel way but the fearlessness in his glowing blue eyes actually impressed him. Okay, it did more than impress him. After a moment, Castiel spoke again. "I'm not giving up on you."

It required fighting every instinct Dean had but he managed to say, "Don't. Don't give up," barely above a whisper.

Nodding, Castiel's expression remained determined. "I'm going for another swim. You know how to find me if you want me."

"Yeah."

His mouth went dry. Castiel had a way of saying a phone book without saying much at all. With very little effort there on the dock, the angel brought out the human in the demon. If they both fought together, maybe Dean had a shot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part contains strong sexual content.

Left wing. In, out, in, out.

Right wing. In, out, in, out.

They moved as seamlessly and effortlessly for Dean as his arms, yet he still felt completely awkward, bulky, and unnatural. As with every emotion, it all stretched back to inherent anger. Rage. Only spilling blood and stealing souls gave him mild relief, which, he guessed, was why every other demon followed that road before him. He fantasized about gutting a human there in the meadow as he worked out the kinks in his wings. That too felt as seamless and natural as anything else. He couldn't even muster the moral compass to be disgusted by that fantasy anymore. Truthfully, he needed to hunt. If he didn't soon, he could release it all on Sammy or Castiel.

Angel grace.

Just the mention of Castiel in his thoughts sent a jolt of hunger and delicious depravity through his dead human body. For a split second, thinking about tasting angel grace made him feel alive again. That was another thing that should have been in the nonexistent demon handbook. A drop of angel grace was like heroin to his new species. It aroused hunger, adrenalin, and the most wicked kind of sexual desire in a demon, which typically wasn't a problem for most, except Dean had already been tangled up emotionally with an angel for years. Their bond made Castiel's grace taste even better. He just knew it. Clean, good, and everything he wasn't anymore. The addiction began without even lapping up any of the bluish-white honey.

Left wing. In, out, in, out.

Right wing. In, out, in, out.

The stretching just wasn't working anymore. He knew deep down that Castiel had been right the day before at the docks when he said he needed to fly. Humans saw it as teleportation but their conception of time made them unable to fathom how demons and angels could fly around the world in a few seconds. Dean was stronger than the average demon and he knew he could bend time. He couldn't make himself try, as if utilizing his powers would push him beyond the point of no return, but he knew he could do things that other demons could not.

If Sammy saw him do anything demonic, he knew he'd give up and embrace Hell. Only his little brother's faith kept his tenuous hold on humanity. And Castiel. Damn it, always Castiel.

"Hello, Dean."

Speak of the angel and he appeared.

"What fun Dean activity is Sammy dragging me to now?" he muttered as he reached around and massaged his sore shoulder.

"None," Castiel replied. "He's gone into town for food."

"Beer?"

"Beer."

"Awesome."

He felt Castiel smile behind him, just slightly, as if he recognized something of his old self just then. Again, the struggle flared in Dean, making him want to slaughter his natural enemy but still feeling that intense attachment. He wanted to vomit out all the goodness Castiel gave him, but keep it locked away too. It exhausted him despite no longer needing to sleep.

"Come on," murmured the angel.

Taking Dean by the hand, Castiel looked over at him as his bold feathered wings opened over his shoulders.

"Cas--"

"--You'll feel better."

There was no choice anymore. If Dean didn't open his leathery black wings, the angel would simply drag him along until he gave in to those flying instinct. Castiel tightened his hand around Dean's, making him painfully aware of the scales covering his body. Of course, Sammy couldn't see his true form, like a dragon skin got stretched over a human body, but Castiel saw him for what he was since  _the change_. It didn't seem to bother him. Strange, because Dean knew angels and demons were naturally repulsed by each other's true forms. It was just the natural order of things for creatures like them to stop them from fraternizing with the enemy. Yet there Dean the demon and Castiel the angel stood, hands linked.

"Quiet your mind," he instructed in a soft voice. Gentle blue eyes observed him patiently. "Open your wings. Catch the breeze."

The oppressively cold earth grew unbearable as Dean spread his wings. Without their insulation, he welcomed such cold air around his body that he shivered. Yet it was summertime and blistering hot for Sam. Anger welled in his gut again as he shut his eyes and bit his lip.

A sharp summer breeze swept through Dean's wings on cue as if Castiel commanded the weather. Perhaps he could actually do that. Dean never thought of it before. In a quick gush, instinct flapped his wings and his feet lifted off the ground. He and Castiel ascended quickly like a vacuum drawing them higher toward the clouds. He didn't dare open his eyes yet, still unable to reconcile himself to the cold. Castiel's grip on his hand loosened and gave him the freedom to escape if he choose but Dean snatched his hand harder. No, he wouldn't ask for that security blanket. He'd take it.

"Open your eyes, Dean," the angel commanded over the rushing wind.

Reluctantly, Dean obeyed. The earth spread out below him like peering down at the planet from a plane. He sensed the thin air and the inability of humans to breathe that high up but he and Castiel sailed along effortlessly. Below, a whale surfaced in the ocean and mist sprouted from the blowhole. So far below--too far for mortal eyes to detect--but Dean saw all of the fish and life in the sea. He wished he could feel the beauty in those things again. Instead, he felt nothing. Cold. Always cold.

Browns and greens flew by beneath them. They'd traveled across the Atlantic Ocean in just a few seconds in the human conception of time. Europe sped by and gave way to the northern edge of Africa. When the earth turned from lush greenery to arid desert, Castiel began to descend. He pulled Dean along with him by the hand and, thankfully, the atmosphere warmed around him.

As they touched down in the African desert, Dean couldn't be bothered to ask himself just how he knew the correct landing posture to avoid snapping his legs. He simply relished in the comfortable warmth, thinking that it was the kind of heat that would kill a human after a day. To him, it only warmed him just enough to not feel to miserable.

"Why did you bring me out here?" he asked.

"I feel your cold," said Castiel quietly. "This is a place you may come to warm yourself. You won't have to go to--" Cutting himself off blocked him from actually uttering the truth.

"Hell, Cas. You can say it. Hell."

Blue eyes cut sharply at Dean's face as the desert sun blazed beyond his dark hair. "No. I won't say it. And you don't need to go there either. You'll feel like you belong, like it's home, but it's not. So when you need to warm yourself, you come here."

Dean smirked at how easily he got Castiel worked up. "You gonna spend eternity nagging me, angel?"

"I might," he retorted. "But you feel better, don't you?"

"Yeah, okay. I do." Admitting it pissed Dean off and he kicked the sand as he stalked along the edge of a dune.

Castiel shouted after him, "You're welcome!"

"Fuck you!" Oh yeah, that felt as good as it did bad. It wasn't Castiel necessarily but he needed to tap into that reservoir of anger. It felt nourishing.

Cool, clean wind burst behind Dean and a pair of iron hands bound his wings behind his back before he could stop it. The earth disappeared beneath him again, though he had no control. Angels were always stronger than demons and feeling Castiel drag him along like a rag doll made him squirm and flail for freedom. He must have resembled a bit of prey caught in the talons of an enormous vulture.

"Damn it, Cas! Put me down!"

The angel didn't acknowledge his protests. Instead, they passed over a desert city, cloaked behind clouds, and when they burst into the city, they most faster than the human eye could detect. A flash of a sign went by and Dean thought he saw the word Cairo but it didn't fucking matter. The angel had him and being so aware of his demonic shortcomings, despite being more powerful than most, left him brimming with white hot rage.

With a hard thump, Castiel dropped Dean on the floor of an empty room. He didn't know how they got there or where they were but the plush furniture suggested a hotel. Not just a hotel but a high-end place at that.

"What the fuck was that?" Dean rebounded off the floor with his eyes blackened and his chest puffed out, ready to fight.

Calmly, deliberately, Castiel ignored him for the moment as he peeled off his tan a jacket and then his navy suit jacket. His eyes cast Dean's way without giving away what he might have been thinking. For Dean, he held onto the fury, though he never stepped closer for the attack. Instinct told him attacking an angel without the element of surprise would result in disaster. His fists shook with the need to beat someone to a bloody pulp, and as long as Castiel stood there, he was the first target. Dean didn't give a flying fuck who he hurt or why. He just needed to shoot off that charge of gunpowder.

It all stopped--time itself seemed to bend to Castiel's power--as he unbuttoned his sleeve cuff and rolled it to the elbow. Beneath the rarely seen flesh of his inner forearm flowed a vein, though there was nothing human about it. It glowed in his arm and Dean's eyes flooded with black. The blackness announced his immediate desire just as it announced immediate anger or any other impulse prone to demons. Angelic grace carried through each extremity of Castiel's vessel in that vein, which humans could not see. Hunger flared through Dean like a flame. He even licked his lips despite trying to convince his eyes to go back to normal. He desperately wanted to crack Castiel open and overdose on goodness and light, but he restrained those impulses, wrestling them down with every ounce of his self-control.

"Each day, you slip deeper into your new dark instincts," Castiel said in a gentle tone meant for placating a frightened animal. "I know what you want, and you want it because goodness is a drug to your kind. Humans and demons are not so different. What's different is you can taste and consume small portions of grace. It'll keep you from reaching the point of no return."

"Don't get any closer!" Dean backed away, knowing he couldn't control himself.

The angel ignored his plea and calmly approached. "I trust you," he murmured. "I trust you not to take too much."

Taking too much would burn Castiel out like a dying star. Dean knew it. His dry tongue rushed over the roof of his mouth in the panic of seeking moisture to speak clearly but his hunger for that walking dessert tray left him dumbfounded. A leathery wing bumped a table, startling him, and the flailing, uncontrolled wings threw that table into a wall. The lamp shattered, leaving the room cloaked in dark shadows. It didn't matter. Both immortal creatures could see in the blackest cave if necessary, but the dark room emphasized Castiel's glowing veins even more. Smaller ones branched off the main artery. No vampire felt bloodlust the way demons felt lust for angelic grace. That was, he knew then, a big reason why demons avoided engaging with those heavenly snack dispensers.

"Dean...." whispered Castiel, trying to reach him deep within his former self. "I'm not going to let you sink into this even more. If I have to feed you my grace until I die, I won't let you kill and torture the way you think is natural. Once this demonic curse is cured, you will regret what you've done on such an unprecedented scale that you'll punish yourself for the rest of your life. I know you, Dean." Were there tears rimming Castiel's eyes? "I won't let you hate yourself if I can watch over you."

"I'm not your responsibility," seethed Dean, looking away.

"No, you're not. Responsibility implies I've been forced into this," Castiel argued. He covered the space between them in just a few strides. He grabbed Dean's chin with those iron hands and forced black eyes to meet blue. "I'm watching over you because I choose to, just like I choose to give everything I have to stop you from giving up on yourself. We're going to undo this Mark of Cain that made you a demon. And until then, you're going to fight your instincts and let me take care of you. This is not up for negotiation. Do you understand?"

"You'll make an addict of me, no better than Sammy on the blood," said Dean in a dark, foreboding tone.

The angel's head tilted. "It's a means to an end."

"I will kill you before the Mark's undone." Dean's voice cracked. The threat of killing Castiel, even unintentionally, thrust him face first into what remained of humanity. "I won't control myself. I see you ripped open with your grace on my hands."

"Then I'll maintain control over you."

The simple statement cut through Dean. He quipped, "You want me to suck on your grace, don't you? Why not just shoot me up with human blood like we did to Crowley?"

"Curing you with human blood requires sacrificing a human. Taking my grace won't require my sacrifice."

"It could," countered Dean, turning dark again. "I'm pretty fucking strong, even in the world of demons."

Tilting forward, Castiel raked a hand through Dean's hair, tugging on it in a warning. "Yes, well, I'm stronger."

Son of a bitch. The tone Castiel hit curled Dean's well-concealed sense of fluid sexuality that he'd repressed as a human. Instant blackness flooded his eyes again just as his mouth dried, eager for a taste of anything the angel offered. The faintest smirk appeared and faded like a ghost over Castiel's lips and it appeared the angel knew exactly what he thought and felt.

Castiel let go of Dean and turned his back, returning to the other side of the room as he rolled up his other sleeve. "Sit on the bed," he ordered.

If he disobeyed, what would happen? Dean saved that theory to test later and crawled onto the bed just as he was told. He leaned against the headboard with his wings spread so wide that they hung over both sides of the mattress. Among their kind--all winged creatures--opening those wings was an invitation for close proximity. He watched Castiel as the angel rolled his shoulders, flexed his hands, and fluffed his wings like he mentally prepared himself. It occurred to Dean that this was very much one-sided lust, yet it didn't matter. As long as he got what he wanted, he didn't give a rat's ass.

Castiel joined him on the bed, angel blade in hand. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder. "Rules first."

"Prude."

"Dean...."

The demon cackled, already feeling high with the prospect of getting a hit of that liquid goodness.

"Rules," Castiel began again. "Only I determine how much you get. When I pull away, you stop. If you don't, I'll make you stop by force."

"Oh," replied Dean through exaggerated shock. "Can I call you master?"

Unimpressed with his peacock attitude, Castiel scowled. "You don't know. You will soon. If you don't show me the proper respect, our arrangement will end no matter how much we want it."

"We, huh?"

Castiel remained silent as he drew a diagonal line down his inner forearm. He winced into the angel blade slicing his vessel's flesh, opening the vein carrying bright, luminescent grace to his extremities. Sitting beside him, Dean instantly sobered as he felt the power shift in the room. He saw the goodness. He saw the light. He saw everything he wasn't anymore and he wanted that hit so bad that his legs liquified on the mattress. Maybe it would keep him straight for just a little while until Sammy and Castiel succeeded at their obsessive search for a way to remove the Mark of Cain and end his demonic life.

The angel dropped the blade on the bed and met eyes with Dean, touching his face with his free hand. "I trust you," he reiterated quietly, perhaps more of a plea to be careful and remember their bond.

Lack of humanity meant Dean felt no qualms about bending over Castiel and lapping his tongue around the open wound. He allowed suppressed thoughts to bleed through and sucked bruises into the angel's skin without even touching the leaking grace yet. Occasionally he felt Castiel's body tense. He sucked a wet line further down to the inner wrist, a highly sensitive spot, and the angel offered a stifled but delicious gasp.

Delayed gratification arrived as Dean's mouth sealed over the open wound. A mix of blood and, more so, white hot grace pooled in his mouth, forcing a muffled moan from his lungs. Castiel had no idea. He just had no idea. It was like drinking an orgasm, raw power, and the goodness of the universe all at once. Instant strength infiltrated his muscles and his wings stiffened as his fingers dug into the angel's arm. Possessed with no thoughts beyond hunger and need, the demon vaguely realized that his leg tossed over one of the angel's legs and he slowly curled his pelvis back and forth. Friction sent ripples of pleasure through his body until he couldn't hide his swelling cock anymore.

"Enough, Dean," instructed Castiel patiently. "Let go now."

Nothing in Dean wanted to obey. He could have easily drained Castiel right there in Cairo, but flashes of their years together forced their way through the blackness of his demonic inclinations. Awkward angel smiles. Hunting Purgatory for nothing but him. Keeping his trench coat. Feeling the loss rip him open every day when he thought Castiel was dead.

"Dean," Castiel intruded again.

It took everything he had but Dean obeyed, releasing the delicious grace with a wet pop. Without thinking, he instantly replaced one new addiction for another, sliding up to Castiel's mouth. He still tasted grace there as if the elixir infiltrated the vessel's cells throughout his body.

He broke away long enough to see if Castiel rejected him. And then he realized he  _cared_ about someone else's feelings. He  _cared_  about whether Castiel consented. Taking in the grace actually worked. Dean felt marginally human despite the demonic within scratching and clawing for control again.

The angel blinked, quite stunned, but if he didn't give some sign of acceptance, Dean would be mortified for the rest of his life. Just that threat of embarrassment made Dean want to run around the block screaming because he was  _feeling_ again.

A flash of feathery blackness surrounded Dean as Castiel turned the tables, slamming his back onto the bed. He sucked in a sharp breath, knowing that display of strength would have killed him when he was human. Now that they both shared immortality, albeit from extremely opposite perspectives, gentle touches didn't matter anymore. Neither knew who dove in first but buttons popped and shirts flung on the floor and over a lampshade.

"Cas, you sure?" mumbled Dean as he leaned up and bit into Castiel's neck, though not hard enough to pierce the flesh.

"Yes," he answered in such deep intensity.

"You're gonna be kicked outta your family if they find out--"

"--Dean," he cut him off, studying his eyes. "You care...."

"Yeah," replied Dean with a flicker of a smile.

A flood of relief melted the tension from Castiel's body, his thighs clamped over Dean's hips, and he grasped his face with a long kiss plummeting into their bond. "You're back," he whispered in grateful syllables. "Oh, it's you again."

"Mostly. Kinda," Dean mumbled hastily.

There wasn't time to talk about it. Details were too complicated when most of Dean's blood long since vacated his brain for the much more entertaining place in his groin. His hand clawed up the back of Castiel's head as he bit, nipped, and sucked at his lips.

Dean's inhuman strength got the better of him, fully possessed by his new addiction, and he reached down and ripped Castiel's sensible navy pants. Just as sensible and altogether in the way, white boxers were ripped away with one hand. The angel no longer had whole clothes but it didn't matter. Castiel's flushed cock stood high from his pelvis, curving upward slightly with the strength of his long repressed desire for Dean. Maybe he didn't even know how he felt until that day.

Once Castiel accepted his own need, he effortlessly tore away Dean's jeans and slid his palm along the length of his cock. Flesh on flesh sucked the breath out of Dean's lungs, as did the clumsy experimental way Castiel went after him.

"Like this," he mumbled as he curled a fist around the base of Castiel's cock and drew upward around the head.

The angel arched over him, wings stiffening and extending, as his eyes squeezed shut. A deep groan rumbled through his chest and Dean realized stroking him to the edge of the cliff could have been enough for both of them. Seeing an angel grinding into a demon's hand proved so lustful and wrong that his hell-born senses tingled with excitement. It was an alien sensation, pumping his fist over another man's cock, but the demonic in him simply had no understanding of reservations or fears over what society would think. He wasn't human. Their society no longer applied to them.

Castiel pitched forward, straddling Dean, and those leathery wings he detested so much suddenly received all the attention. Hands spread wide over his wings' underside and Dean wanted to protest at first until a burst of pressure radiated through the new extremities.

"Remember...." the angel breathed.

He'd been the first, the only one to touch Dean's wings at the lake. If the demon in him truly wanted to kill the angel, he would never have allowed it. There Castiel hovered, rubbing his wings along their undersides again, and he drove Dean crazy with the virgin pleasure spots. He pressed into a joint as if he knew exactly how it felt. Arching, Dean let out the sort of moan he'd never heard from himself before and the ends of his wings involuntarily curled inward. Wing-curling pleasure, it seemed.

Quick and strong, Dean flipped Castiel on his back with inhuman speed. He assumed control as his demanding gesture tossed a few stray angel feathers in the room. Castiel's compliance pointed to that sense of perfect trust because Dean knew no angel would ever allow a demon to manhandle control that way.

He swiped the angel blade off the bed and slashed a line, opening the vein of grace running through his inner thigh. The angel hissed and growled, curling up off the sheets as his grace brightened the dim room. Dean pushed his thighs open, taking in the enticing sight of his rigid cock curling up against his belly, and bent to the source of his new addiction. Small, tempting sips trickled into his mouth, so careful not to take too much. Castiel felt his restraint and allowed it. Rewarding him for his compliancy, the demon's hand rubbed his balls and gave his cock increasingly eager strokes. Pumping, twisting his fist as he simultaneously sucked the angel's thigh brought out sporadic and hurried moans from both their lips. The liquid orgasm had Dean grinding his own cock into the mattress.

Letting go, Dean sat up on his haunches and licked the dripping grace from his bottom lip. He stared down at Castiel's spread open naked body and his cock throbbed with the devious sight. Dean unabashedly jerked himself, taking the moment to commit that sight to memory for later. Castiel bit his lip and watched Dean as if he knew it was so wrong to enjoy it. He touched himself hesitantly and then a heady moan escaped him as they gave into the impulse of watching each other fuck their own tight fists.

But then it wasn't enough for Dean. Another inhumanly fast movement threw Castiel over the desk at the window. The higher angle worked just right as he hooked his hands around Castiel's thighs, yanking his ass flush with his bobbing cock. He stood alongside the desk, grinning darkly and locking eyes with Castiel, spread out on his back like a dessert platter just for him. There wasn't time for lube even if they had any. Dean spit on his hand quite generously and stroked himself with the precum built up at the head of his cock. He had very little patience for opening Castiel's puckered hole but still the part of him that remembered human compassion  _cared_ about hurting him.

Finally, they joined bodies. Dean eased into Castiel in short, teasing strokes until he eventually bottomed out and the tight, moist, warmth hugged his cock in a way he'd never experienced.

Almost delirious, Castiel impulsively snaked a hand down his own body and pressed his fingers hard into the underside of his balls as Dean's hips snapped back and forth. Soon the aching heat grew so intense that neither could muster a sound but instead sucked in quick breaths and watched each other in tortured bliss. Skin slapping skin sounded more debauched than the angel moaning and Dean chewed his lip to keep his eyes open just so he could watch Castiel defile himself. Nothing, he knew then, would make him harder than seeing a holy creature give in to those primal, sinful impulses.

"Faster, Dean...." growled Castiel through clenched teeth. He may not have even known he said it.

"You got it, angel," Dean panted.

Dean gripped Castiel's thighs and pounded into him. Years of unspoken, repressed attraction broke between them and as much as Dean fucked Castiel on that desk, Castiel eagerly fucked him right back. The wounds where the demon drank from the angel long since healed but the goodness and light raced through Dean's demonic body like heroin.

Feathered angel wings curled upward as Castiel's body went stiff. Dean never gave him a moment to breathe, pumping into his body with possessive force, but Castiel kept up with him. He realized he found his match as Castiel's fist flew wantonly over his own cock, eventually focusing only on the head. White spurts shot up toward his chest as his free hand reached over his head and planted on the wall as if he thought he'd completely erupt.

"Dean!" he shouted, jaw stretching open as it ripped through him.

Dean threw his head back and made a long, inhuman sound caught between a groan and a growl from Hell as his body tightened, readying for the few seconds of explosion. He felt it coming. Just a little more. The impulse took hold and he pitched forward just like Castiel had. His punishing rhythm never broke as he grabbed a fistful of feathers from the underside of Castiel's wing. He let go just enough to press into that pressure point, that secret place in every winged creature that awoke their physical senses. Body trembling--but never willing to admit it afterward--Dean's cock shot cum deep into Castiel, thoroughly knocked out by his long-awaited release.

The pair of them went limp. Castiel's body haphazardly draped over the desk with Dean leaning over him. A tender hand passed through Dean's damp hair but neither of them spoke for a long time.

Once Dean could move again, he brought Castiel back to the softer sheets on the bed--demonic strength came in handy for those moments--and blanketed the angel with his own body. Sweat and sticky evidence of orgasms left them rather filthy but it didn't matter. Castiel's knees drew up and his thighs framed Dean's hips as the demon peered down at his angel. A thumb passed beneath Dean's eye, and then the other one.

"What are you doing?" whispered Dean, his throat hoarse.

"Tears," Castiel whispered back.

"Oh fuck, that's gross." The instant he forgot he was a demon, it all came rushing back as the anger response grabbed him.

Castiel chuckled so faintly that Dean wondered if he imagined it. "Get over yourself. I've seen you shed tears numerous times as a human. It simply means my Dean is still in there." He touched Dean's face, palming his cheek in spite of the scaly condition of his skin. "You're still Dean."

"Dean the demon addicted to angel crack," he mumbled.

"Dean, stricken with the Mark of Cain, which will soon be cured like any other disease. Until then, _angel crack_ will manage your symptoms." The angel's eyes flashed blue light as if to order Dean not to argue with him. "I may have allowed you control today but you will remember who's in charge otherwise."

"Anything you say, master." Dean flashed the charm of a snake and bent, kissing Castiel's collarbones. "So when can I have more?"

"A few days," replied the angel.

Cackling, Dean shook his head. "You won't last that long."

"Try me," Castiel goaded through a hazy smile.


End file.
